


Pearlina Week June 2019

by PANTAL00NS



Category: Splatoon
Genre: F/F, Pearlina Week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-24
Updated: 2019-07-20
Packaged: 2020-05-18 23:48:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19345183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PANTAL00NS/pseuds/PANTAL00NS
Summary: Seven days and a different prompt every day.





	1. Mt. Nantai

**Author's Note:**

> I found out about [Pearlina Week](https://twitter.com/CJ_WalkerFics/status/1142836111556927490) a bit late, so here's my hasty textsmash so I don't miss out on the fun. ;o;

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Team Order wins!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since I like to do a thing where I share what songs I was listening to when I write, [here's the song](https://youtu.be/YBdyc1WDlBQ) I had on repeat for this first prompt.

It had started as hype. Excitement. Genuine, hearts-thumping excitement. _Fun_. Even with the playful banter they gave each other as they announced the Splatfest, they’d always been smiling and laughing. Even after a loss Pearl would still give her a light punch to her shoulder, mindful of her rings. She’d grumble but praise her team for working so hard. Next time, she’d say, next time they’d get them…  
  
The thing about everything going sideways is that no one tells you how gradual it is. A slow, steady decline is almost invisible. And when it’s finally caught, it’s far too late to stop the gears already in motion.  
  
Marina isn’t sure if there’s even a moment where she sits down and has a revelation. There’s no _real_ ”eureka!” instance. The things she notices are small, and her mind is too distracted to really put it all together. She’s sent along with the current, drifting with the mob mentality. And when people argue, it’s always those on Chaos’ side. “You’re taking this too seriously,” they complain.  
  
No one listens. To their ears, it’s just the fussing of a losing team. And then the results come in. Order has won.  
  
They celebrate, of course.  
  
Team Chaos does not.  
  
Marina catches them whispering to each other, here and there. Eyes wide and bodies small. They actually look… fearful. But what did they have to fear?  
  
“Did you hear? They’re implementing the Salmonid border,” Pearl tells her one afternoon, her voice so quiet and tired.  
  
_They_ being the newly installed government. Not technically new, but after campaigning on the side of Team Order, it’s no surprise why they won their bid for political power. Marina doesn’t usually pay attention to politics, herself. Not after she moved to Inkopolis and realized and inkling politics were silly and childish and not at all oppressively totalitarian like Octarian. No need to pay much mind when something like a Splatfest could decide if pulp was legally better than no-pulp.  
  
But she hums thoughtfully, and smiles. “I hadn’t! But that’s good. If they use that blueprint I gave them, the raids will really cut down.”  
  
Pearl _looks_ at her then. It’s not an entirely pleasant expression, the way her brows pinch together and her lips curl into a frown. Marina isn’t quite sure what to make of her girlfriend, but Pearl nods. It’s a slow nod, but a nod all the same. When they go to bed that night, Pearl doesn’t hold her in her sleep, she takes a spot all the way on the other side of the bed and it already feels as if there’s a wall between them.  
  
The actual wall goes up within a month. Marina’s design is efficient, after all. But it doesn’t cover the entirety of Inkopolis. It cuts through, circling the central hub of the city, using words and throwaway terms to justify it (can’t be too close to the water, more energy-efficient if it follows the main power grid, stuff like that). Pearl doesn’t like it. Marina knows that much, with how the short girl always grumbles about it under her breath. But when a raid happens and citizens seek shelter on the other side, the border wall closing on the advancing Salmonids, no one can say it doesn’t work. So it stays.  
  
Then the separations begin.  
  
Criminals are the first to go. They are exiled beyond the wall. With that decree comes the checkpoints to keep the inner-wall inhabitants safe. Everyone accepts these notions. It’s for the good of Inkopolis. Except it doesn’t stop with the more dangerous criminals. Soon enough, even the pettiest of offenders get sent off.  
  
It’s a year later when she’s watching the news, Pearl curled into her side and biting at her lower lip worriedly, when they finally announce mandatory registration of all Inkopolis citizens.  
  
“They’re just taking a census to make sure everyone stays where they’re supposed to, Pearlie,” she tries to tell the girl, hand on her back soothingly.  
  
“That’s what they fucking _say_ ,” Pearl spits out. “Mark my words, Marina. Things’re about to get a shell of a lot worse.”  
  
She tells Pearl she’s being too pessimistic (it’s not like a little regulation is a monster to be afraid of) and holds her hand when they go to the office to get their identification wristbands. A new piece of technology, and quite efficient Marina thinks. It not only houses one’s ID, but also all their personal information and access to their banking and such like that. All right there and convenient. No more fumbling with cards.  
  
Then the riots start. Dissenters. The news shifts and twists. It becomes _us_ and _them_. The propaganda strikes so subtlety that many are taken. Those who object become _them_ , the enemies who are sewing chaos among their orderly society.  
  
It… really doesn’t help that Pearl is so openly critical of everything.  
  
The final straw hits at long, long last. Mandatory exile of half the populace. Pearl had been out getting groceries when they take her. She’s the first on the list. They even broadcast the initial batch of people and Marina watches, horror-stricken, as Pearl is marched first in the line through. The worry becomes guilt. The guilt becomes anger. Then all she feels is _hopeless_.  
  
When had it all gone so wrong?  
  
The apartment (no houses any more, everything is neat and so _orderly_ ) is empty. The bedsheets still smell like her lover. And Marina is alone.  
  
It takes her a week of careful planning. There are border guards, after all. But it is her system and she knows it very, very well. A careful outage in one sector in between guard shifts, and she’s gone beyond the wall.  
  
Her first thought is to find Pearl in the mess that is the outer city, ravaged by decay and Salmonid raids as it is. But Marina just wants to think. So she keeps hiking, well into dawn, until her shoes are worn and she’s on the path that will lead her to Mount Nantai.  
  
Things were so much simpler on Nantai, when her only plan was to see the city and find the girl who could turn a scream into music.  
  
A part of her is surprised to find Pearl already there and waiting. But really, the sight of the inkling just makes her heart soar. She runs to her, crying out and she can’t get Pearl in her arms fast enough. The crush of her arms winding around her, holding her so tightly, is the best thing she’s felt in a year.  
  
“I’m sorry,” she whispers, “I’m so sorry, Pearl.”  
  
“Took you long enough,” the short inkling huffs, but she’s smiling. A tired, happy smile. “Made me wait here a damn _week_ just to see you again...”  
  
And then Marina is laughing. Cry-laughing? Well, it’s laughter all the same. And she shakes her head, pressing closer and just holding her little lover against her.  
  
It’s a scene years in the making. Two girls meeting on the mountain, walking off as friends. And now those same two girls reuniting at the place they met so long ago, holding each other like they’re afraid the other might vanish when they let go.  
  
The world may be a mess, but for now things are simple enough. They have each other. The rest can wait.


	2. Color Pulse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, a surprise storm will cancel Splatfest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one will _probably_ make more sense prompt-wise if you check out the [remix](https://youtu.be/KhhPvmt7eK0) I was listening to.

With the power out for the rest of the night the only sounds that grace her ears are those of the rain pitter-pattering against the immense windows of the manor. While Marina had planned to leave back to her apartment earlier, the sudden storm meant she’d little choice but to stay the night. It isn’t as if it’s a big deal – she’s spent enough nights at Pearl’s mansion that Marina knows the layout of the building just from the feel and creak of the floors under her bare feet.  
  
Shell, Pearl basically gave her her own bedroom (that she never uses), where she has a change of clothes and other necessities. Marina practically lives there in all but name.  
  
And now it’s raining, heavy enough that the water sounds like static as it hits the glass. It’s Marina’s favorite kind of rain, when it comes down hard and the thunder rolls in the distance. Calming and serene. She smiles where she sits in her favorite rocking chair, cheek in her palm and blanket tucked around her to keep the chill away.  
  
It _is_ a shame that the power went out two hours ago. Marina would have like to read in this kind of weather, but reading by phone light is too harsh on her eyes.  
  
So instead she rocks and hums to herself, just enjoying the moment of serenity.  
  
A moment that’s broken by the sound of Pearl coming down the stairs. “Found ‘em!” the inkling calls out joyously, and Marina can’t find it in herself to be annoyed.  
  
“Found what, Pearlie?” she asks.  
  
Rather than answer her, Pearl comes over with a box. After a bit of digging she sets something on the table and Marina notices the metallic glint of an old lighter (Pearl’s, from back before she quit cigarettes and drugs, she remembers that Pearl used to play with the cap when she was feeling nervous). A spark, and then the living room is bathed in the soft, warm light of a candle.  
  
More candles join the first. Pearl patters about, setting them up. One on the coffee table, one next to the television, one on the little side table by the book Marina had been reading, another on the kitchen counter, and so on.  
  
It’s such a small thing, but Marina watches the inkling scurry about, getting every candle in an optimal spot. Sometimes Pearl even has to stand on tiptoe to reach, but soon enough the main rooms are all awash in the warm glow of candlelight.  
  
“There,” her girlfriend declares when she finishes, dropping the spare tealights back to the supply box. “You were wanting to read, yeah? Well now you can!” And Pearl grins widely at her, the kind of smile that’s all beak and no lip, and Marina finds herself returning it. Such a simple gesture, and Pearl knows her too well, knows that she mostly spends her time in the rocking chair with a book on her lap.  
  
But Marina doesn’t go to grab her book. She listens to the musical tip-taps of the raindrops on the windows, looks at Pearl as the candles illuminate her girlfriend in soft light and shadows. She makes a decision, and stands.  
  
“Actually… I was thinking of something else we could do...” she offers in a gentle tone.  
  
Pearl’s interest is immediate. She looks back, tentacles bobbing against her chin. “Oh?”  
  
“Dance with me?” Marina asks. It’s such a sappy request. Dancing with her girlfriend with only candlelight and the storm. Intimate, too.  
  
No teasing greats that request, and in fact Pearl’s smile turns ever softer. “Sure thing, Marina.” She does take a quick moment to mess with her phone, to find some music. But soon enough the quiet beats of a lofi remix fills the room, and Marina finds it to be perfect as she tugs Pearl close to dance.  
  
It’s not really dancing, though. Not like their energetic, synchronized movements on a stage might be. Instead they just hold each other, hands in all the wrong places, their legs tangled up. But it’s _nice_ , just moving to the gentle tempo, watching the flickering shadows on the wall, and enjoying the feel of Pearl in her arms, Pearl’s hands on her shoulders, and Pearl’s cheek resting against her chest.  
  
Time ticks on, but Marina pays it no mind. In fact, she doubts she’d complain if the rain canceled more Splatfests if it meant she could spend them like this.


	3. Cake vs. Ice Cream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An age-old dilemma. There's nothing like a good friend to help put an argument to rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one actually gave me a _lot_ of trouble. Sorry if it doesn't read well. As always, here's the [song](https://youtu.be/LCbFtdkkCbg) I had on repeat for writing.

Planning a wedding is no easy feat.  
  
Planning the biggest wedding that Inkopolis has seen in years? Even harder than expected.  
  
It had started with Pearl’s father offering a _considerable_ (read: insane by any logical standards) sum of money to the Splatfest coordinators. This had allowed him to… suggest… not only the date for the next fest, but also the theme. So, while the denizens of Inkopolis might not understand the significance between the Dress vs. Suit theme, they most certainly will by the time the big day rolls around.  
  
So not only is the wedding set to coincide with Splatfest (which is excuse enough for anyone to party), but it’s also set to add on to the Splatfest celebrations, effectively taking the usual Inkopolis Square festivities and multiplying them by a factor of _at least_ 16\. Public weddings just had that benefit.  
  
But damn does it require a _lot_ of planning.  
  
Marina had said she was fine with a small, private ceremony. Just them, Pearl’s family, and their collective friends.  
  
That was before Pearl brought up the sly suggestion of hosting a public concert – not their usual ones, but in the form of a song that they each write their wedding vows to. Thus, they would be performing their vows and promises in front of everyone.  
  
Easier said than done. Songs don’t magically come into existence. And like this, there is no chance either of them is going to manage to surprise the other. But that’s fine. The proposal hadn’t been a surprise, either. Or, well, the _idea_ of marriage had already been talked about and agreed upon, so while both girls knew they were going to get married, the specifics of the proposal was an entire surprise. Which led to the hilariously awkward situation of them both proposing to each other, at the same time, on live television.  
  
Regardless, singing their vows means there will be no surprises, but that’s fine. It’s fun as they agonize over the _perfect_ chords and _perfect_ lyrics. They know they’ve got it down when they can sing their parts and the butterflies always come full-force in their hearts just hearing them.  
  
No, it’s not the vows, or the venue, or the clothes, or the rings, or any of that which is the pain.  
  
The _real_ pain is settling on a cake. Because Marina does not like cake. Even though Pearl enjoys cake thoroughly and cake is _traditional_. Well, two cakes are traditional, but they’re settling on just the one big one. Except Marina isn’t pleased about it at all, even as they pour over designs and flavors and all that important stuff. She’s frowning and glaring, arms crossed over her chest and lips puffed in an adorable pout.  
  
Pearl really wants to kiss that look off of her face, but Eight’s right there too, so the snogging just has to wait.  
  
“Really, Marina. Cake is _traditional._ I don’t get why you’re so upset about this!” she sighs. Their first argument as fiancees, and it’s over _cake_.  
  
“It’s just… sugar bread. It has no business being in an event as important as our wedding, Pearlie.”  
  
Eight, bless their heart, has been listening quietly while the two celebrities argue. They’ve since learned about the mystical celebration of weddings and all they entailed, and even snagged a date in the form of Three (who had grumbled but reluctantly given in at the promise of free food like any self-respecting inkling would).  
  
Yet they had been arguing for _hours_ and Eight really just wanted to get back to beating Pearl at the racing game that had been paused so full attention could be given the verbal spat.  
  
“We can’t just have ice cream at the wedding! It’ll all melt and get gross!”  
  
“Not if we keep it chilled, Pearlie. And ice cream will be much better on a hot day than having cake.”  
  
Ugh. They were both being so silly. Eight rolls their eyes and goes back to staring at the pause menu, willing it to change into something. Anything.  
  
Nothing. No dramatic savior from the pixel avatar on the screen. Eight gives in to temptation at long last and digs out their phone. Three should be off of work by now, they can chat. Maybe Three will want to ~~lose~~ play some private turf matches against them.  
  
_**>** **8:** Hello Three! I’m bored. We should turf today._  
  
There. Simple enough. Three has often fussed that Eight texts “like a withering old crustacean”, but Eight doesn’t see what the issue is. At least they remember to use grammar, capitalization, and pronunciation. Unlike Three, who uses none of those things at all.  
  
_**> 3:** r ur moms still bitching about their wedding_  
  
_**> 8:** They are. Yesterday the complaints were about whether or not confetti should be permissible. Now they are arguing about whether or not to serve cake or ice cream. Pearl has forgotten we have our game on pause. :(_  
  
_**> 3:** rude_  
 _**> 3:** tell them to shut up_  
 _**> 3:** get an ice cream cake_  
 _**> 3:** then tell them to drive you over here so we can turf_  
  
And because Eight is the sort to take things literally (they are still learning language nuances), they dutifully relay that message. “Three offers the advice of getting an ice cream cake.” At least they’ve learned to not tell people to shut up and that such words are rude.  
  
But it does the trick, and both Pearl and Marina turn to them as if they’ve grown a new tentacle. For a moment, they wonder if they’ve said something wrong. Had Three given poor advice? Three sometimes gave poor advice.  
  
“That’s actually brilliant,” Marina allows. “How did we not think of that, Pearlie?”  
  
“Too busy focusing on everything else, probably,” Pearl shrugs. But it is a good idea. “We going with ice cream cake, then?”  
  
“Looks like it.”  
  
Eight is pleased enough to smile widely, glad to have been of assistance. They’ll have to tell Three the advice was well-received!  
  
“Cool. Alright, cake settled. _Now_ , what’re we gonna do for color scheme?”  
  
And just like that, any hope of there being an end in sight is gone. Eight sighs and stands, tip-toeing away before either girl can notice their absence just as they both start going into a tirade over whether warm colors or cool colors would better suit the wedding.  
  
_**> 8:** I will take the bus. See you soon, Three._


	4. Blazing Love Meteor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Super jumping to the enemy should only be weaponized by trained professionals. Unfortunately, Pearl is not one of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sorry for how late and bad this is! I am actually visiting Ireland at the moment. Also I did NOT skip a day! Day 4's prompt can be [read here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19378021), since I felt it was too long (and too special) to add to this collection.

Marina hadn’t meant to do it.  She never did, but Pearl had… a sixth sense, of a sort.  Either that or she watched the minimap  _ religiously _ every time Goby Arena was on rotation.  Regardless of the logistics, it just never failed.  At some point during a match, Marina would inevitably find herself standing under the court hoop.   
  
And no sooner after she did it, Pearl would come flying in.   
  
Granted, Marina usually watched her, facepalming as the tiny squid yelled some stupid catch phrase mid-flight.  Such antics were almost always rewarded by an instant splatting from the enemy, and Pearl’s only response to such setbacks was a simple “hashtag worth!”   
  
(It wasn’t worth  Ever.. Pearl’s splatting was usually followed by Marina’s splatting, and they lost precious positioning with two people stuck at spawn.)   
  
So, when Goby Arena came up on rotation that day, and Pearl excitedly dragged her off to play a few rounds, it was really only inevitable that Marina would find herself standing under the hoop.   
  
She had been stalking after a slosher user, actually.  With the high walls, a slosher could do some real damage and her team couldn’t afford to lose such an important placement.  So she chased one down and was about to come up behind them, having coerced them around the corner, when she realized where she was standing.   
  
Right under the hoop.   
  
But no indicator popped up and it took Marina just a second to realize that, oh right, Pearl was on the  _ other  _ team this once.  And stuck back at respawning after she had gotten splatted from rushing out in the middle of contested area with her dualies.   
  
Marina hefted her umbrella.  No Pearl to worry about, just that slosher…   
  
Aha!  Somehow they had managed to get into just a tiny splatter of ink at the corner, but they yelped and made to scurry off.  Marina, naturally, made to follow.   
  
Except before she could do more than take one step, something crashed into her.   
  
Well, crashed was the wrong word.  It was more like something fell out of the sky and landed right in her arms, knocking her umbrella out of her grasp as it happened.  Not a hard something, in fact they were quite light and soft and…   
  
Pearl.   
  
The tiny squid was laughing in glee, grinning widely up at her friend (enemy for the moment).  “Yo! I can’t believe that worked!”   
  
And poor Marina sputtered, having not at all expected that Pearl would stealth jump to a teammate with the sole purpose of landing in her arms.  Pearl looked quite pleased with herself, too, snickering and completely uncaring for the battle going on around them. “So how’s  _ that _ for super jumping straight into your heart, Marina?”   
  
The only natural reaction was to, of course, drop Pearl to the ground.  It was probably the only incident in turf history where the victim was splatted by simply being dunked into enemy ink.


	5. Dear Senpai

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, you can confess without explicitly confessing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this on terrible hotel wifi, sorry it isn't that good. ;;

A confession comes in many forms.   
  
It comes in the silence of a smile.  The bark of laughter at a joke. The press of two fingers together in solemn promise.  A walk around each other so fast it may as well have been a dance. It’s there in the twinkle of their eyes, the curl of their lips in a grin, and the quiet indulging of their presence.   
  
“I love you,” Pearl doesn’t need to say, because it’s there every day.  From the passing of a pen to elegant fingers, to the tuck of a blanket around tense shoulders.  She tells from gestures as simple as collecting a fallen bottle of tentacle oil and putting it back up, standing on tiptoe to make sure it reaches the top shelf for no reason more than because that is where Marina likes it.   
  
Her confessions are said in small inconveniences to herself and her schedule, like straining the pulp out of the orange juice before she serves it to Marina.  Or slicing fruit and buying yogurt so Marina can have a nice breakfast to wake up to. Or frowning in the electronic store because Marina lost the dongle to her headset and Pearl has no idea what the little numbers on the packaging means but she doesn’t like to see Marina sad so she’s buying her a new one anyway even if she gets it wrong and has to bring it back.  Which she will, and will only grouch about a  _ little _ when she gets home and sees that Marina wasn’t answering her texts because she was too busy out at a different store to buy her own dongle.   
  
For Pearl it is the action that speaks louder than a word ever could, for she may be a singer, a rapper, and a writer of lyrics and poem, but Pearl is  _ terrible _ when it comes to putting meaning to words when she is explicitly trying.  Her emotions bubble and boil, roiling over in her hearts and mind, too difficult to get a grasp on, to put vocabulary to.  She is too passionate, feels too deeply, and struggles to choke out even a phrase as simple as “I love you” as a consequence.   
  
So she doesn’t.   
  
For Marina, the problem is inverse.  She neglects to say “I love you”, not because she is incapable, but because it is  _ important _ .  Those words are important, ones to be cherished and held dearly, or used sparingly.  Like a fine dessert, meant to be savored with slow mouthfuls and melted on her tongue.   
  
Confessions are special, after all.

Affection is shown and given in other, more nuanced ways.  Fingers massaging aches and pains out of Pearl’s back. Quietly sizing and buying a secondary set of riding leathers for her lover.  Dressing down to hide her identity while taking Pearl on a surprise trip to a concert for her favorite metal band. Happily listening as Pearl runs fingers over her old Rockenberg Inky Rider jacket and explains the significance of each patch, pin, button, and accessory - their histories, how she got them, and why they’re all there (even the safety pins).  Holding Pearl’s hand as she gets her tongue piercing redone after having the barbell out for too long thanks to a doctor’s visit.   
  
So no, Marina does not say “I love you” in so many words, but she does give other tells.  “Pearlie,” she’ll breathe with so much affection that a blush will grace her tone. She’ll grab hold of her, with fingers and tentacles both.  Sometimes she will even crawl into Pearl’s lap as an octopus, now that she knows her secret, and slide her tentacles around her limbs just such a way that Pearl has to wrestle with her suckers to get her to let go.  She touches and clings, speaks her favorite nickname with all the adoration her tongue can muster. She’ll clap her hands and grin excitedly, and Pearl calls her  _ cute _ and doesn’t at all make her feel childish and silly for such antics.  
  
“I love you,” is unsaid in a song blurted out on live television.   
  
“I love you,” is unsaid in a stage designed solely for someone special.   
  
They confess without confessing, and for them that is enough.


	6. Into The Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The sun doesn't discriminate on who it shines on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm late. Very late. And also high on sleep medication. Take this chapter with a grain of salt because I honestly have no idea what I'm doing at this point. I'll regret my life decisions when the medicine wears off.

It doesn’t matter which team wins because in the end they both do.

Chaos and order are not two different sides of a coin, they’re a spectrum. The trick, then, is to find a balance between. Too much of either and things get… well. Dangerous. Worrying. Order without chaos is a life without freedom. Chaos without order is a life without stability.

So when they draw up the plan for their new world order, because that’s the way this thing works, they work together. Chaos and order, in harmony. It’s important that it ends this way, and yes there may be some sore points from the losers (or those who are too shortminded to see the big picture), but one day they’ll look back and see that they haven’t really lost a thing.

No more Splatfests, but that’s okay. They’re too random, much too chaotic, and the subjects that can ride on them are too important to be left up to chance. Down comes the fax machine, and the shrine around it. That’s the first matter they take care of, the instant Pearl’s voice returns to her after she screamed herself hoarse through the ‘fest.

But it’s not the most important. That comes later, when things have been drafted and protections put in place, contingencies and the like.

They still announce the news, because their contact isn’t up yet. They still banter, but they rely less on the teleprompter or pre-written scripts. Reviews are positive, people realize that they flow more naturally without having to rely on a conversation that was written out in advance. It’s then that they finally, finally deal with the metaphorical elephant in the room.

“Yo, we got breaking news!” Pearl announces with a grin on her face. But the way her scrawny legs swing back and forth belay her nervousness, her excitement, her fear.

“Breaking news?” Marina parrots, feigning surprise. “What did you break this time, Pearlie?”

“That statue out in the bay,” she says, puffing her chest up like an important bird, so very proud of herself. “I know the good people watching saw it during the Splatfest, and they gotta have some questions. We just got the okay from authorities to spill the beans, so here’s the run down!”

Truth be told, it’s Inkopolis’ worst-kept secret. Footage of the helicopters around the statue had already been circling on GooTube long before the Splatfest ended. Now, they’re just filling out details and dashing any rumors since they have permission to do so.

(No one has to know that they gave themselves permission when the Splatfest ended.)

So they tell Inkopolis about the statue, about Kamabo, about the AI that almost destroyed them all. But the most important part is giving credit where credit is due. Pearl obliterated the statue, yes, but it was done through Marina’s plan, and with Eight’s assistance (though they will remain anonymous for their own privacy).

“Before we sign off, I wanna just put a rest to some rumors that’ve been going around about Octarians walking among us. And you’re all right! In fact, the most famous one in Inkopolis is right next to me,” and she smiles to Marina, who flushes in embarrassment and waves in that cute-nervous way she does with both hands. “And you can credit Marina and our Octarian pal with bringing down Kamabo. If it weren’t for them, Inkopolis would’ve gotten splatted. So if you spot any Octarians around Inkopolis, welcome ‘em home, ‘cause sure as shells know they earned it.”

And that’s it.

No riots. No fighting in the streets. There’s just genuine companionship as they walk, hand in hand, through the Plaza.

Of course most everyone knew that Octarians were among them. They’d been making friends among their Inkling cousins as they established a place for themselves. It’s only natural that when they meet someone they genuinely care about that they’d tell their secret all their own.

Now they don’t have to fear the reception, or fear the home they made for themselves crumbling away to nothing.

The sun doesn’t discriminate on who it shines on. All anyone could do was walk forward, into the light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who endured my awful writing for Pearlina Week. Ya'll are lovely! <3


End file.
